


With You

by RisingSm0ke



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: (okay this is really leaning toward shippy im kinda pushing it), Can be a ship or not, Gen, adventuring through the wasteland, might be gory later hence the tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingSm0ke/pseuds/RisingSm0ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small one shots based around my female Sole Survivor and her favorite companion, Hancock. Fairly disconnected and in no particular order unless specified otherwise. I find things that interest me as I wander the wasteland and find myself needing to write about them</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically written the same as my Dragon Age fic, which I am still slowly working on, so I don't know when I'll be updating or how many chapters there will be.

Trekking through large cities was always a rather silent and cautious affair, even among Connie's more talkative friends, and Hancock was no different. The ghoul had started traveling with the former vault-dweller some time ago, and despite growing to know each other well, Connie found that there were things about him that never ceased to amuse her- not that she'd let him know.

Green eyes slid from the cracked and worn asphalt in front of her to the ghoul silently pacing a little ways away on the other side of the street. He rarely stayed close, Connie had long since noticed, and liked to keep distance between them. In buildings he'd wander off the minute they crossed the threshold, sauntering over to a chair or nearby wall to lean on casually, watching the whole room from his chosen vantage point. Cities were much the same, he never walked directly beside her- like Piper did- and instead chose to keep at least five feet between them. He'd explained to her early in their travels together, that it made it harder for both of them to be targeted at once, and that spreading out a little meant two different viewpoints, or a wider search radius.

Connie watched him prowl forward, looking very much like the capable killer he was, lengthening his strides to pull ahead and peer around the next corner before her, keen black eyes able to see better in the dark than her own. She slowed her steps to humor him, glancing at her Pip-Boy and finding it's sweeps for other wasteland inhabitants coming up clear- there was nothing around but them.

Hancock continued forward, which Connie took to mean he'd found nothing, stalking across the intersection and continuing the walk toward the edge of the city with his red frock swaying in the chilled breeze. She followed with a fond smile quirking her lips, he was so protective and careful with her, it amused her to no end just how breakable he seemed to think she was.

They continued in quiet for some time, the soft crunch of their boots on rubble and the ambient noises of the Commonwealth the only sounds to be heard. The pair stopped at the edge of the crumbling city, pausing to take in the barren landscape before them, spotted with dead trees and long since abandoned vehicles, slowly weathering and becoming one with the ground.

“There's an old house of some sort to the North,” Connie muttered, looking through the scope of her favorite laser musket, “We could try that?” She proposed, lowering the weapon and looking to her friend for his opinion.

Hancock grunted in response, pulling a cigarette out of one of his deep pockets and lighting it with what would have been an expensive flip-lighter if anyone gave a shit anymore. Connie rolled her eyes as she holstered the musket, she knew enough Hancock-speak to know that meant he was fine with the suggestion and set a brisk pace for him to follow.

The house turned out to be empty luckily, and the two made good time in setting up camp, tucked under the remaining roofing in a corner on the second floor- carving out a warm space for themselves in the biting cold of the night. Hancock checked around the perimeter one last time as Connie started heating up food on the freshly made fire, the ghoul kicking at random pieces of rubble and digging around in the downstairs kitchen noisily before finally joining his companion by the fire.

“Find anything useful?” Connie asked without looking up, her red hair catching the fire light and making the color seem even deeper than it already was.

“Nah, not really,” Hancock shrugged, long coat swishing around his legs with the motion, and plopped down beside her, taking the plate she offered him as he did so, “Nothin' but trash- as is usual,” He mumbled around his food, having wasted no time digging in.

“Don't talk with your mouth full, that's disgusting!” Connie cried in mock offense, only half joking, “Where are your manners young man?”

Hancock snorted, “Manners? What're those?” He replied easily, taking another bite of food and turning to scowl at the woman beside him playfully, “And don't you fucking 'young man' me, you don't even know how old I am.”

“Well I know I'm older, so respect your elders and shut up while you eat your food.” Connie clipped back while trying to force down a smirk, taking a huge bite of her own meal in a vain attempt to hide it. Hancock raised a non-existant brow, letting out a low whistle and giving his head a small shake at her attitude, humor in his wry smile and dark eyes.

“Suuure, sure. Whatever you say, ya old hag.” His insult fell flat of course, in part because they both knew he didn't mean it, and partly because he couldn't hold back the giggles that clung to the tailcoat of his sentence, all while flinching away from Connie preemptively in preparation for the smack on the arm he was sure to receive- which he did, Connie reaching across the small distance between them to swat at his shoulder.

“I don't know why I keep you around,” The woman huffed, determined to keep the fragile scowl she'd managed to scrape together in place.

“Probably for my dashing good looks and charming personality,” Hancock replied without missing a beat, setting his plate down to snap the collar of his coat for emphasis, giving Connie the cockiest smile he could manage and sending her into a laughing fit so severe she started choking on her food.

“You okay there, sister?” Hancock chuckled, watching as Connie coughed again, smiling despite the tears in her eyes, before giving him a nod.

“Yeah, yeah I'm good,” She managed weakly, giving him a thumbs up as her coughing fit slowly subsided. The ghoul studied her a moment longer, as if determining for himself if that was true, eyes narrowing in thought until he seemed satisfied with her answer and went back to eating. Their conversation was minimal throughout the rest of the meal before they settled in for the night, fire doused and sound traps set up downstairs.

The night grew deeper still without the heat from the flames, the cold leaking into Connie's bones, making her shiver in her sleeping bag. She lay, curled under as many blankets as possible, parallel to Hancock who was sprawled over the top of his own sleeping bag, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Connie rolled over to glare at him, watching the smoke drift lazily from his last cigarette of the night, one arm bent to rest behind his head and hat askew, covering his eyes.

“Hey Hancock,” She said, voice muffled by the layers that failed to keep her warm. The ghoul hummed in curious acknowledgment, taking another leisurely drag from his cigarette. “We're pretty good friends right?” Connie continued, watching as Hancock's brow furrowed under his hat, a spindly finger reaching up to tip it back a little, allowing his inky eyes to meet her green ones.

“What?” He started, obviously confused by her sudden question, “'Course we are Red, wouldn'ta suck around so long if we weren't,” He rasped, voice gravely as always despite the uncertainty and bewilderment that was clear in his tone.

“Okay so then it won't be weird if I do this,” Connie said, quickly sliding out of her sleeping bag with a violent shudder at the late-fall air and pulling it, along with the rest of her bedding, right up against Hancock's side. She climbed back under her small pile of blankets, now tucked against his body and her head on his shoulder, “Because it's cold as fuck and I'm sure as hell not going to let the weather be the thing that kills me.”

The ghoul stiffened, muscles going tense as Connie settled in with a satisfied sigh, eagerly cuddling close to his inhuman body heat. Slowly though Hancock relaxed, his breathing resuming after being caught in his throat by surprise, his initial spike of panic over being touched soothed by how easy the woman pressed against him made the contact seem. It'd been years since someone had touched him like this, contact that meant more than fleeting formality. After turning into a ghoul, John hadn't let anyone so close, he kept himself guarded with one hand on the hilt of his knife at all times, wary of everyone around him.

But, he thought to himself, he couldn't let her freeze to death on his watch. Someone, probably Piper or maybe Danse- that asshole always looked for a reason to start something with him- would have his head for it. And as reluctant as he was to admit it, he'd become close friends with this odd woman who'd waltzed into his town all those months ago. Her soft voice pulled him from his train of thought and he let himself relax fully, feeling his muscles slowly bleed of all their previous tension.

“Why are you so hot? S'not fair,” Connie mumbled sleepily as Hancock brought the arm that was behind his head around her shoulders, snuffing out the dying stub of his cig and pulling his hat back over his eyes with his free hand. He took a moment to answer, debating on whether or not to make a joke but finally deciding he'd spare her the trouble this one time on the account of her already being half asleep.

“Not sure exactly,” He mumbled softly, the hand on Connie's shoulder tracing small patterns on her arm, “Prob'ly got somethin' to do with the radiation or some shit like that. M'not human anymore after all.” He finished somewhat sadly, tone wistful.

She hummed tiredly, eyes closed, “So? You dun hav'ta be human,” She slurred, snuggling closer, “Yer just you.” Hancock let the silence stretch after that, turning her words over in his mind as she finally fell asleep, leaving him to his thoughts and the distant sounds of the wasteland.

 


	2. Don't Leave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie and Hancock let their guard down for a bit and it comes back to bite them in the ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and gore in this chapter, I kinda put in more than I meant to but oh well.  
> Unedited because I don't have the energy to do so

Goodneighbor had a certain reputation, one that often deterred raiders from it's proximity like rats that skittered through the shadows around the only light source in a room. No one caused trouble in Goodneighbor, not if they didn't want to deal with the man in charge. Not if they wanted to live. Hancock was exceptionally proud of the power this gave him, their fear allowed him to keep his town safe and well stocked through trade routes- something the raiders had also learned to avoid.

It was for this reason that Hancock and his favorite human strolled so casually through the streets surrounding the town, there was a safe zone even outside the city walls, a small buffer space between the savage dangers of the wasteland and Goodneighbor's community, and the pair allowed their guard to drop a little because of it.

In hindsight, Hancock thought later, doing so had been a terrible idea.

Connie had stopped their journey back from Hubris Comics to root around in a building that caught her attention, asking Hancock to start searching the second floor so they could get back to Kent faster. The ghoul had grumbled playfully, acting put off as he stomped up the rickety wooden stairs of the dilapidated building, Connie's soft laughter drifting behind him.

Long, gnarled fingers traced over the dusty surfaces of long since touched counters and trailed along slanted bookshelves, occasionally picking up something only to toss it away or shove it in the rucksack that hung from Hancock's broad shoulders. He knew Connie always picked up clocks and desk fans- _“For the gears!”_ She'd cried in annoyance once before when Hancock had questioned her hoarding tendencies- so he made sure to snag any he found.

He plucked a random book off one of the shelves, flipping through it with disinterest, when he noticed the sounds of Connie moving about downstairs had gone quiet. He stood still as a statue, book still held in his hands, as he concentrated on listening for the woman- maybe she'd just stopped her digging around to examine something?

Hancock frowned when the silence stretched on longer than it should, prompting him to switch the book in his hands for the laser pistol strapped to his hip, stealthily stalking back towards the stairway. As he cautiously made his way down the steps, he was met with the striking smell of blood, the scent making his heart stop in alarm even as his legs moved faster, pistol humming and held at the ready as he rounded the corner.

A quick glance revealed the wide open entry-level floor to be empty, a small pool of fresh blood on the floor. Adrenaline flooded through his body as Hancock neared the red splatter, his inhuman sense of smell- while not as sharp as a feral's it was still more developed than any human's- allowing him to identify the blood as Connie's, a scent he'd caught whiff of too many times for his comfort while traveling with the woman.

There was a bloodcurdling cry from the back door that lead to one of the narrow alleyways, _“John!”_ It turned the ghoul's blood to ice, the panicked and strained voice recognizable as Connie's, even if Hancock had never heard her scream in such a way. He barely had time to think about how he never wanted to hear that level of fear and pain from her ever again before he was moving.

The door was nearly kicked off its rusted hinges in his haste to get it open, red frock billowing behind him as he stormed out into the dull light of the dusk sky. Dented metal slammed into the brick alley with a violent crack, chipping the already weathered wall and drawing the attention of the two raiders dragging a thrashing Connie into the street.

“What the fuck!” One of the men swore, dropping Connie's arm in favor of raising his weapon and looking in Hancock's direction. The second man, bigger than the first, maintained his harsh grip on the woman's other arm, one massive hand clamped over her mouth even as she tried to regain her footing and squirm away.

Hancock's vision went red at the sight of Connie's bloodied hair, distinguishable even through her similarly colored hair. He took deadly steps toward the trio, eyes gone cold and a snarl curling his non existent lips to expose his ghoulishly sharp teeth.

“Just what do you scumbags think you're doing?” He growled lowly, fingers digging into his gun as he leveled it at the raider closest to him, tension and fear charging the air as he approached. It was obvious this raider recognized him, the man's complexion paled significantly under all the dirt that was smeared on his face.

“H-Hancock!” He stuttered, taking a couple of shuffling steps back, “This your broad? We didn't know, honest!” Uninterested in the shoddy apology, Hancock's attention switched to the red smeared on the man's shaking hands and the butt of his gun, marking him as the one that had hit the injured woman in his partner's grasp. The larger raider holding Connie finally looked up, scowling at his companion's submission before eyeing the ghoul that was well within shooting distance now. The hand around Connie's mouth dropped quickly to reach for the pistol on his hip, bringing the weapon up to the woman's temple and cocking back the hammer with a click.

“Yeah, she's mine,” Hancock said coldly, eyes tracking the larger raider as he pressed the gun against Connie's head, “And I'm sure you've heard that I don't like it when idiots like you two shits touch my stuff,” He hissed through bared teeth, crouched like a cat ready to spring on it's prey, muscles coiled and tense. The sound of Connie's ragged breathing only fueled his anger, he spared her a quick once over, noting the blood trickling down her face and the bent leg that she couldn't seem to put any weight on, along with the absence of her pack and weapons. Something inside him, buried beneath years of apathy and loneliness, roared with new-found rage, _these fuckers had hurt her, the one thing is this godforsaken world that he actually cared about, and he was going to_ _ **fucking kill them for it.**_

It'd been years since he'd felt this much emotion and some cruel part of Hancock's mind reveled in the intense ire that made his heart hammer and blood sing hotly through his veins, he'd been empty for so long and the rush he got from the raw anger and adrenaline was almost as addicting as the chems he took.

Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the sound of his first shot, the laser round leaving an ominous trail of red energy behind it before burying itself in the large raider's arm, explosively burning away at the flesh there and rendering the limb- and thus the pistol in his hand- useless. He dropped his hold on Connie in an instant, pain making him instinctively recoil, letting the woman drop to the pavement with a yelp of agony as her leg was jostled.

The pained sound tore a feral snarl from Hancock and he aggressively fired another round into the man's chest, knocking him to the ground and away from Connie. The smaller raider fired off a shaky shot, the bullet clanking against the armor under Hancock's coat and drawing the ghoul's attention.

The man screamed as he suddenly found himself without a hand, his severed limb and weapon falling to the ground as Hancock twirled a machete in his hand expertly, having switched weapons with practiced speed. The raider stumbled backwards in blind panic as Hancock prowled closer, a cruel smile twisting his features as he kicked the forcefully removed hand away, flicking the machete sharply and sending any blood clinging to the blade splatting to the bleached gray of the sidewalk.

“This is my turf, you fucking swine,” He spat, violently slashing at the raider's stomach and feeling cold satisfaction at the feeling of his blade catching on armor and flesh, easily rending through the man's thin armor and the soft skin of his abdomen. Blood sprayed from the gaping wound and arced off of Hancock's bade as he flicked it again, the thick red liquid splattered over his coat.

“Aw, well now look,” Hancock implored mockingly as the raider collapsed to his knees, hands flying to his stomach in a feeble attempt to staunch the bleeding and hold in his organs, “You've gone and gotten my favorite coat all dirty!” The end of his sentence was punctuated by a harsh kick to the man's face, snapping his head back and sending him careening to the ground with a dull thud.

Hancock stood over him, expressionless as he tipped his head to the side and examined the man's broken breaths that gurgled in his throat. Bloodlust drove him into action again however, and he forcefully stabbed the machete into the man's chest with a sudden sneer.

“Not dead yet huh? Good, you don't deserve a quick death for touching her,” He growled twisting the blade slowly and watching with a concerning amount of disappointment as the life faded from the raider's eyes. Hancock ignored the nagging feeling that he was over doing it for now, his anger still roiling and driving him to give the body another unnecessary kick.

Another yelp snapped his attention back to the woman lying on the street, struggling to scramble away from the previously downed raider who now held a knife in his left hand, dragging himself closer in a last ditch effort to take someone down with him.

Hancock didn't let him get far, boots making purposeful sounds against the pavement as his long strides carried him to the fallen man's side, a heavy foot stomping between the man's shoulder blades, pinning him to the rough ground, and coolly trading the bloody machete for the shotgun that rested on Hancock's back.

“Rest in fucking pieces you filth,” Hancock snarled, resting the barrel against the man's head and pulling the trigger with finality. The explosive clatter of the shot echoed off the surrounding buildings in the fights aftermath, Hancock breathing harshly as he slowly removed his foot from the dead man's back and sheathed his weapon.

“You okay Red?” He croaked, the rush of adrenaline leaving him suddenly as his mind registered that the fight was over. He turned, suddenly very tired and shaky, to check on the former vault dweller still stuck on the ground. His heart plummeted, however, when he saw her expression for fear, wide eyes locked on his lithe form.

He was frozen, pinned by her gaze just as the dead raider had been pinned by his foot, fearful that he'd just scared her away for good. Old wounds tore open once more, memories of a time before he was mayor and used rage as fuel, when he was reckless and didn't care what happened so long as he could just _hurt something_. A time before the apathy when he allowed his demons to make him cruel and his self hate to make him cold.

“Hancock,” Her trembling voice broke on his name, tears spilling from her eyes and mixing with the blood on her face as she stared to sob uncontrollably. Her arms reached for him weakly and he couldn't resist her pull, practically running to cover the short distance between them and landing harshly on his knees, ignoring what would surly be painful bruises later in favor of clutching Connie to his bloodied chest.

He mumbled reassurances into her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder, hands clawing at his back to hold fist-fulls of his jacket. With a gentle carefulness that contrasted starkly with his previous actions, he pulled her into his lap, mindful of her wounded leg.

“It's okay love I got you now, nothings gonna getcha,” Hancock murmured softly, strong arms wrapped around Connie's smaller form protectively. The woman nodded, breathing slowly started to return to normal as Connie let herself relax into the comfort Hancock's presence provided. Relief flooded him, cool and calming on his frayed nerves, as she held him. _He hadn't scared her away, she was still here, they were okay_ , he chanted to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of having her warm and alive and _safe_ in his arms.

“I was so scared, John,” She whispered hoarsely, throat raw from crying, “They snuck up on me and there wasn't anything I could do,” She trailed off for a moment, her grip tightening around the man holding her, pulling him impossibly closer, limbs shaking with the force of her tense muscles, “I managed to pull away for a second and scream for help,” Hancock shuddered at the memory of her screaming his name, some of his settled rage returning, but the emotion was drowned by concern as Connie continued, “They broke something in my leg to get me to shut up,” She said, pulling away to examine the damaged limb.

They both loosened their hold on one another and Hancock gingerly felt along her leg for a break, finding it in her ankle when Connie shrieked as pain shot through her body. He mumbled an apology and went about removing her boot as carefully as possible, eventually deciding to just cut it away with his favorite knife that he always seemed to pull out of nowhere.

“But I liked these shoes,” Connie joked in an effort to distract from the situation, her body tense against the pain and voiced strained in an effort to keep it light.

“I'll get you new ones,” Hancock said without looking up, focused on making her a makeshift split until they could get to a real doctor in Goodneighbor. She let him work in silence, but maintained her white-knuckled grip on the fabric of his coat, knowing she was wrinkling it horribly but not finding it in herself to care as long as Hancock didn't protest- which, of course, he didn't.

It was only once he picked her up bridal style after recovering her lost bag from where the raiders had tossed it nearby, that she dared to speak again. Her arms circled around his neck and head resting on his shoulder as Hancock carried both her and their bags like it was nothing.

“John?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. The ghoul hummed, prompting her to continue, “You scared me back there,” She said, “I don't know what that was, but I thought you'd lost it. I've heard stories of ghouls turning feral and I think my imagination went a little haywire...”

Hancock stopped walking, the walls of Goodneighbor only a block away, and looked down at the woman in his arms, that same fear creeping back into his mind. So he _had_ scared her, just not in the way he'd initially thought. _'I thought I'd lost you.'_

“Nah Red, I could never leave you,” He said casually, though they both knew he meant it with every fiber of his being. His pace was renewed and as he roughly kicked the town's only door open Hancock could have sworn he heard Connie's voice through the bang of wood on wood, _“I know.”_

 


	3. Hancock has Zero Experience with Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When was the last time Hancock was responsible for a child? Was there even a last time?? He sure as hell can't recall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest here guys. This chapter is a little oddly written because I really don't know what I'm doing and don't give enough fucks to figure it out. So enjoy another unedited chapter (yanno what just assume they're all unedited from now on, okay? Okay.)

They'd seen the flames from a distance, the pair cresting a hill only to find a beacon of fire lighting up a small settlement just outside the the portion of Boston that belonged to Diamond City. Connie and Hancock spared each other a swift glance, wordlessly agreeing that they needed to help, and took off running without further pause. Hancock slowed a little as they neared, his longer strides having carried him farther, falling back to let Connie take the lead as the sounds of panic and fear grew louder. He'd learned long ago that people didn't react well to ghouls running towards them- regardless of how well dressed said ghoul was.  
Connie seemed to understand this and shouted the moment they were spotted, “We're here to help!” Putting extra emphasis on the 'we' and moving herself in front of Hancock, attempting to block any line of fire directed towards him. The few settlers at the gates lowered their weapons and didn't get a chance to get a word in before Connie was sweeping past them and through open gateway with more authority than a woman her size should have, taking command of the situation and snapping urgent tasks to everyone around her.  
People seemed confused at first, not just by the red head who had put herself in charge but also by the ghoul in a tricorn hat following at her heel, but they did as they were instructed anyway. Any water that could be spared was focused on the base of the burning buildings, others were given shovels and told to suffocate the flames with dirt.  
At some point a woman started screaming about her child and Connie caught Hancock's arm as he passed on his way to refill an empty water bucket, ripping the object from his hand to give to someone else and thrusting a child into his arms- where had she even found a kid?  
“Here take this,” She said swiftly, handing the toddler to him as quickly and gently as possible before turning to run and help the woman still shrieking nearby, grumbling something about movie clichés under her breath. Hancock stood stock still for a heartbeat before the child's wailing registered in his mind, causing his heart to race in growing panic.  
“Wait Red! What am I supposed to do with this!?” He cried after her desperately, but was left standing in the middle of chaos with a crying child as he watched her disappear into the crowd. Looking down at the kid dumbly, Hancock's mind scrambled frantically for any scrap of information it may hold on child care before it belatedly supplied that maybe he should move the small human away from the fire ravenously devouring the wooden houses. That seemed like a decent start.  
Bringing the child closer to his chest and shifting his arms around to get a proper hold around the small being wiggling in his grasp, Hancock turned on his heel to jog stiffly towards the group of settlers being ushered out of the way of the destruction.  
“Hey kid, c'mon cut me some slack here,” He said, distressed at the child's- girl's he noted now that he actually looked at her- cries, tears streaked down her dirty cheeks, “Shhhh, it's okay,” He tried again, giving her a small bounce and doing his best to ignore the odd stares and whispers he was receiving.  
“Should we do something?”  
“Who gave a ghoul a child, what were they thinking!”  
“What if it hurts her?”  
Their whispers steadily grew louder, crawling into his mind through his ears like parasitic bugs, and Hancock could feel his slowly rising panic spike in the face of the crowd's growing disapproval. The harmful comments festered in the back of his mind, mixing with that near constant whisper that told him “you're a monster, just like they say. Monster. Monster!”  
Shit, he'd never really been around kids, even before he'd become a ghoul, and now he found himself to be seriously lacking in the “knowing how to take care of small things that needed an adult to live” department. His younger years had been wildly spent chasing thrill after thrill, getting high, and jumping into more fights than he could ever be bothered to count. Then he'd become a ghoul and a mayor of a misfit town and none of that left room for children damn it! Fuck, had he even seen a kid in the last ten years?  
An unexpected coo brought him back to himself, the little girl in his arms staring up at him with wide, curious eyes, pink from crying but no longer leaking tears. Hancock tipped his head in cautious wonder as the toddler reached her small, tubby hands up to his face, gently patting his radiation-scarred cheek and grasping at the thick collar of his jacket. Her youthful smooth skin contrasting against his own, aged and leathery ghoulishly misshapen flesh.  
Their gazes remained locked, both curious about this other, unfamiliar being they found themselves faced with. Connie's laughter made his head snap up after what seemed like eternity, eyes now trained on the woman smiling with a fond smugness as she watched the child reach for his hat. She stepped closer, wrapping her lean arms around him and the girl he held, forming a loose three-person hug, her grin fading to a wistful smile, eyes going distant and no longer actually seeing the girl in front of her.  
“This what they took from me,” She whispered sadly, though this time the bitterness wasn't there in her tone, just a soft but powerful yearning. Hancock frowned, not used to this subdued attitude when it came to the subject of her son's kidnapping, Connie always talked about it with a fire that made him honest-to-God relieved he wasn't the one between her and the missing kid.  
Their odd, faux-familial moment was broken when the girl's father rushed over, calling for his child frantically until he spotted her in the arms of a ghoul. Hancock quickly handed her over, the man snatching the kid away and cradling her to his chest in a much more sure manner than Hancock had. His arms felt strangely empty after that, a stray sense of loneliness tugging at his heart as he watched the girl giggle happily in her father's arms.  
“Thank you, for watching over her,” The man said, looking wary and tired but also extremely satisfied to have his daughter safe again, “We lost her in the rush. I don't know what I'd have done if...” He trailed off, tearing his gaze from the ghoul in front of him to drop a kiss to his daughter's head, Hancock shuffled his feet, arms crossing over his chest in a show of discomfort.  
“Yeah, don't mention it, brother. Just doin' our job,” He rasped gruffly, unable to meet the human's eyes for longer than a moment at a time. This never happened, people thanked Connie, not Hancock. The lovely human, not the ghoul.   
Excusing himself with the excuse of surveying the damage done to the three buildings that had caught on fire, Hancock ducked away from the small mob of settlers that had gathered, whether it be to gawk at the tame ghoul or thank Connie for her efforts he wasn't sure and wasn't going to stick around to find out.  
Only one of the buildings was too far gone, burnt to nothing but still-smoldering charcoal, the other two were a little charred but repairable he decided. Hancock's mind started crunching numbers purely out of habit, cost of building materials, number of labor hours, medical materials to treat any wounded... The ghoul sighed, letting the mayoral thoughts slip from his mind with tired satisfaction, fishing a cigarette and lighter out of his inside pockets.  
Calloused fingers snapped the small flame to life with ease, lighting the cig and taking a deep, calming pull before letting the smoke escape through his nasal cavity in a heavy sigh. He watched the end of the rolled paper burn slowly, holding it lazily in front of his face, the burning material almost a sad parody of the crumbling framework of the collapsed house in front of him.  
“John,” He turned at the sound of his name, she only said it when she was serious about whatever followed, and watched Connie approach. She looked tired, her short red hair was a mess and ash and soot covered her in patches, but her smile also held a note of pride. She loved helping people, Hancock knew, it was one of the reasons they got along so well. 'Of the people, for the people,' she said whenever he mentioned it, as if that pretty much summed it all up. Hell, maybe it did.  
“Thank you for your help,” Connie said, voice sincere and full of warmth, her arms snaking around his lean waist in a hug. Having long since gotten used to Connie touching him, Hancock relaxed into the contact and brought his arms up to circle her shoulders, flicking his cigarette to the dirt and letting his forehead drop to her hair.  
“Anytime sister, I got ch'yer back,” He replied as she pulled back a little, dropping an affectionate kiss to her dirt-smudged forehead, admiring they way it made her smile brighter, “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably follow up on this with these two talking about how my SS feels about her late husband and missing kid. I know it was supposed to be a really emotional thing in the game but I just could not bring myself to give a single shit about Nate so my SS is gonna reflect that at least a little. She probs didn't have a very happy marriage. I'll figure it out later.


	4. Lock Picking Is Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock helps Connie with a stubborn lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GOT AN IDEA SUDDENLY AND HAD TO WRITE IT SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT THE NEXT ONE IS LONGER AND LIKE HALFWAY(ISH?) DONE

“Fuck!”

Hancock looked up from the magazine he'd been pretending to read at the sound of Connie's curse, glancing over to see her glowering at yet another broken bobby pin in her hand. The woman sat in front of the door she'd been trying to open, glaring daggers at the tiny piece of metal in her grasp like her gaze alone could mend the pin back together.

Letting out what was probably her fiftieth heavy sigh within the past ten minutes, Connie aggressively plucked another bobby pin out of her case and set to work once more. Hancock watched her fiddle with the door for a moment longer before throwing the magazine, he wasn't even sure what kind of articles were in it he was that _bored_ , over his shoulder and unsheathing his knife, using the blade to clean under his nails.

“How's it goin' over there, Red?” He asked with a nonchalance that sounded all too knowing and smug, not even looking up from his nails. Connie let out a strangled cry of exasperation in response, hands forming claws in front of her as she turned to glare at the ghoul.

Hancock's onyx gaze flicked to meet her's, “Alright sister, move over,” he said with an exaggerated groan as he stood, leisurely stretching before sauntering over to the woman still sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken bobby pins.

Connie scooted away from the door with a huff, her brow furrowed skeptically as Hancock made a show of cracking his knuckles and shaking out his arms. He turned to her one last time, flashing her a charming smile and a wink that made her scoff, before switching his attention back to the door and giving the offending object a solid kick all in one swift motion.

The old wooden door broke easily beneath his steel-toed boot, nearly falling off its rusted hinges as it smacked against the wall with the force of Hancock's kick. The ghoul gave a short satisfied nod, lazily lighting a cigarette and bringing it to rest between his teeth, shooting the stunned woman a toothy grin and gesturing to the now open door with a mock bow.

“Ladies first,” He said regally, tipping his hat. Connie stood slowly, eyes wide and disbelieving as her gaze jumped between Hancock and the door he'd broken down fireman-style.

“John what the fuck,” She said despondently, obviously having not expected this turn of events. Hancock shrugged, grin fading to a smirk, and straightened from his bow.

“Ya wanted it open right? Well it's open,” He stated matter-of-factly, chuckling at the face the red haired woman pulled in response, “Aw c'mon love, even _I_ could feel my life tickin' away and ghouls don't even age that fast!”

With a grumbled ' _thanks_ ' and a stubborn grimace Connie marched through the door, taking a peek at the damage done where Hancock had kicked it, eyebrows raised at the splintered wood and large crack that ran almost half the length of the door. Hancock followed after her, smug smirk still quirking his skin around his mouth.

“Next time I want to actually pick it,” Connie said sternly but not without a hint of amusement, eyes straight ahead as she stomped down the now-accessible hallway “The only way I'll get better is if I practice.”

“Sure sure,” Hancock replied with a dismissive wave, taking another drag of his cigarette and ashing it with a tap of his finger, “Whatever you say Red.”

“I say let me pick the god damn locks”

“I hear ya sister, _sheesh_.”

“ _Good_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connie isn't actually mad at him, she's just stubborn and wanted to do it herself, and Hancock totally knows this.


	5. Are You Kidding Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock is really just a glorified babysitter at this point and Piper thinks it's funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I started this chapter with a certain idea in mind, only for it to stray from what I had planned. This has been happening a lot and tbh it's kinda SUPER FRUSTRATING. [Sighs] I managed to fix it up a little but it's still different from what I wanted and kinda disjointed.

Piper was never really fond Hancock, and she still didn't quite understand what Connie saw in him that made her keep the ghoul around. But Piper whole-heartedly trusted Connie and if she thought Hancock was reliable then Piper was willing to at least put up with him. Mostly. Kinda. Despite any negative feelings she held for the man however, Piper didn't think she'd seen anything funnier than John Hancock- mayor of Goodneighbor, chem addict, ghoul, murderer- legitimately _fretting_.

The reporter watched with a barely muffled giggle as Hancock gently steered Connie away from another patch of radiation, the Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy only able to let out the shortest of clicks before it was yanked out of range. A quick glance to her side revealed that Nick also found the action entertaining, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I never knew Hancock could worry like a hen,” The synth muttered, glowing eyes focused on the pair walking in front of them, “Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, that woman has us all wrapped around her finger.”

An agreeable and thoughtful quiet followed his words, the pair discretely examining the way Hancock walked just ahead of Connie like a war dog scouting the way for anything harmful. They both knew that as a ghoul, Hancock's awareness of radiation was something that came natural to him and often he could sense rads even before Connie's Geiger counter did.

“Yer killin' me here doll, ya wanna end up looking like me?” Hancock rasped in exasperation, grabbing Connie by the crook of her elbow and pulling her away from yet another a sinkhole filled with murky water and toxic waste barrels that the woman had walked too close to for the ghoul's liking.

Nick shook his head, giving up on understanding Hancock's concern in favor of fishing through his coat for a cigarette. Ahead of them, Connie gave Hancock a playful hip bump for his troubles, making the ghoul stumble a bit before regaining his balance and snarling in mock anger. Piper snorted as Connie gave a shriek, darting away from the ghoul and instigating a spontaneous game of tag.

“Nick, save me!” The sole survivor yelped, ducking behind his taller form to use him as a shield when Hancock almost managed to snatch her arm, grinning from ear to ear. Nick, for his part, just kept walking, ignoring the tugs on his jacket when Connie tore away from him to avoid Hancock as he lunged around the synth to grab at her again.

“C'mere Red!” Hancock growled, one hand clamped on the brim of his hat to keep it from falling and the other swiping at his target before she slid up to Piper and grabbed the reporter's arms to hold her in place, “Ya can't hide behind yer friends forever.”

“Oh yeah?” Connie said challengingly, clutching Piper and maneuvering the other woman to stand between her and the ghoul, “Watch me.”

“Hey guys,” Piper drawled, “As fun as it is to be used as a meat-shield, don't you think we should focus on the mission? And maybe catch up to Nick?” She said pointedly, watching Hancock relax his pose and turn to see the synth detective pulling ahead down the dirt road. There was a small 'oh' from behind her and Piper assumed Connie had done the same, the red-headed woman letting go of her arms in favor of skipping off to walk beside Nick, leaving Hancock and Piper to follow at a more subdued pace.

The group walked in companionable silence after that, the wasteland of the Commonwealth quiet and peaceful for once as they followed the beaten path through the barren landscape. Above them the sun hung high in the clear sky, even its meager warmth a welcomed reprieve from the usual biting cold of the winter.

Hancock and Nick could get away without layers of clothing to protect them from the chill, but Connie and Piper were bundled up in whatever they could fit over, or under, their armor. Connie blew out a long breath, watching the hot air drift in front of her face with a light laugh.

“What's so funny, Blue?” Piper asked, giving her friend a curious look that Hancock unknowingly mirrored. Connie hummed and let out another heavy gust of air, waiting until the thin cloud she produced dissipated before answering.

“When I was little I used to pretend that I was a dragon breathing smoke,” She explained with a smile and a shrug, “Just something that I remembered outta the blue.” Nick chuckled at the unexpected answer, Piper and Hancock exchanging moderately confused glances before the ghoul spoke up, seeking some elaboration.

“Is that a pre-war thing?” He asked uncertainly, “I've never heard of it,” Piper's nod of agreement was cut short by Connie's scandalized gasp.

“You guys never pretended to be dragons when it got cold enough to see your breath!?” She practically shouted, halting her forward movement to gawk at them in disbelief, bringing the whole group to a stop. Her two friends exchanged another glance.

“Nooo?” Piper said, though it sounded more like a question than an actual answer. Connie gasped, looking genuinely flabbergasted as her gaze shifted between the reporter and the ghoul.

“Dragons aren't nearly as popular now as they were pre-war, Connie,” Nick offered patiently, smiling a little in amusement at the pained sound Connie made in response, hands clutched dramatically over her heart.

“You guys are killing me,” She cried, “How could dragons stop being popular?” Nick opened his mouth to reply but Connie hastily cut him off, “No wait, don't tell me! I don't want to know what lead to the devastating downfall of dragons, I think my heart will break.” With that she continued down the road, her steps determined as if she could walk away from the revelation that dragons weren't still thought about after the nuclear fallout.

Giving a shrug as if to say ' _eh what ya gonna do?_ ' Nick was the first to follow after her, leaving Hancock and Piper moderately confused about Connie's melodramatic outburst and without explanation.

 

\--------

 

“Hey Pipes,” Connie whispered, leaning closer to the raven-haired woman beside her, “Wanna see a trick?” Piper's brow furrowed in confusion at the absolute shit-eating grin her friend wore, gears turning in her head to try and figure out the meaning behind the vaultie's words.

“If I ignore Hancock's warnings about radiation, he'll give up and carry me,” The red-head explained with mischievous glint to her eye, and Piper guessed this wasn't just a theory, but rather something Connie has used to her advantage in the past.

“Really?” She murmured back anyway, tone disbelieving, “The mayor of god damn _Goodneighbor_ will just _carry_ you around the wasteland?”

“Mmhm!” Connie hummed with a giggle, trying desperately to school the wide smile off her face. She shot Piper a look that clearly said _'watch'_ and managed to reign her expression into something neutral before glancing around for the next patch of irradiated junk she could find.

As she wandered over to some promising looking barrels, Piper realized this probably wasn't something she should be encouraging- radiation poisoning was serious and Connie was less adapted to it than most people who grew up in the aftermath of the fallout. The reporter was just about to call this to Connie's attention but Hancock beat her to it, breaking off from his conversation with Nick and letting an almost offended sounding huff as he marched over to the woman rummaging through junk while her Geiger counter clicked angerly.

“Are you fucking serious,” He snapped, and though it obviously wasn't a question, Connie looked up from her garbage pile and answered him anyway.

“I saw stuff we could use in here,” She explained innocently, ignoring Hancock's glare and her Pip-Boy's warnings, going back to wiping the grime off of an old clock on her pants like there wasn't a bristling ghoul looming over her. Piper looked on in mild concern, jogging the few paces to Nick's side, her eyes never leaving Connie.

“Should we do something?” She asked the detective warily, turning to gauge his reaction, “Like stage an intervention?” Her question was followed by a yelp, Piper's gaze snapping back to Connie to find the woman being hauled away from danger, flung roughly over Hancock's shoulder. The ghoul looked none to pleased carrying a grown woman on one shoulder and her pack- along with his own- on the other, and the ever observant part of Piper was surprised to note the ease with which he walked under the extra weight. She also noted that this was apparently not what Connie had in mind when she said Hancock would carry her, if her response to the rough treatment was anything to go by.

“Nah, I think Hancock's got it,” Nick said simply over the sound of Connie wailing complaints about the ghoul's bony shoulders and actually wanting the dropped clock- _“No wait seriously someone go get it!”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connie is a little shit who burns through a lot of Rad-Away (and also didn't get her clock). I had to write about this because I took Hancock into the glowing sea and he could not stop fretting about all the radiation is was fucking adorable! Also, I wanted to write in more of the companions so that's why Piper and Nick are around, even if they feel a little tacked in.... Oh well. [Mutters to self] I need to write about MacCready and Deacon too, those assholes have really grown on me lately.


	6. Old Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trekking around the Commonwealth was like walking through a giant minefield, no one knew when they'd stumble across something that would trigger one of Connie's memories and send her into a panic attack"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I planned for this to be funny at first. But uh. That didn't happen. Whoops.

“Ugh, what I wouldn't do for some chapstick,” Connie groaned, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, exacerbating the already split skin there. Hancock furrowed his brow at the foreign term, his onyx eyes narrowing in thought as he tried to puzzle out what it could mean.

“What's 'chapstick?'” He asked loudly to be heard over the sound of Connie hammering a piece of metal into shape, giving up on trying to figure it out himself. Connie turned from her work to stare at him blankly for a heartbeat, like he had just told her something absurd, before she blinked rapidly and shook her head, as if to clear it.

“Oh, I guess you wouldn't know what that is,” She said, more to herself than her ghoul companion, “It was a kind of ointment that people put on their lips to keep them from getting dry and cracking,” She explained, absentmindedly going back to chewing on her lip, “Came in little tubes that you could stick in you pocket and carry with you,” Her fingers mimed the supposed size of the object described before falling limply to her sides, voice trailing off.

Hancock watched her eyes grow distant, no doubt seeing memories of the old world instead of him or the weapons workbench she had previously been working at. Tears stared to well in the corners of her eyes, her chapped lips trembling a little as she stumbled back a couple of steps and sunk to the floor, back sliding along the wall next to the workbench.

Alarmed by the sudden mood swing Hancock lurched out of the chair he'd been sitting in, placing the shotgun he'd been cleaning on the worn cushion quickly and striding across the room to crouch before the crying woman.

“Hey Red, what's wrong what happened?” He asked hurriedly, concern reflected on his scarred face, hands hovering over Connie's form uncertainly. Connie just shook her head violently, bringing her knees up to her chest as a sob ripped from her throat.

Hancock's skin prickled with the stares of passing settlers, acutely aware of how many people were watching the general of the Minutemen and Sole Survivor of vault 111, break down in hysterics in the middle of Sanctuary. He took one more moment to deliberate before deciding on a course of action.

Quickly, he slid his arms under Connie and lifted her up bridal-style, one arm under her knees and the other looped around her shoulders. She curled into his chest, eyes clenched tightly shut as if she could feel the stares too and sought refuge in his form, wracking sobs tearing though her body as Hancock took long strides down the beaten roads to her home, ignoring the odd looks they were receiving.

MacCready perked up from his self-appointed guard post he'd crafted on Connie's roof as Hancock approached, kicking his legs off the slapped together wooden panel walls to sit up and see clearly, sniper rifle resting in his lap.

“What happened?” The merc called, tipping the brim of his hat back and leaning over the low wall of the small, windowed box to look down at the pair.

“Nothin',” Hancock yelled back as he entered the run down home, “Just get down here,” MacCready slung his rifle over his shoulder and ducked out of the low doorway of the guard post, opening the hatch in the roof he'd made and hopping down into the house, bypassing the rickety ladder in favor of speed.

He dropped into the living room as Hancock was setting Connie down on the couch, trying unsuccessfully to pry her clenched fists from the lapels of his frock. The ghoul muttered a few swears and gave up when Connie managed a weak _“don't leave me,”_ broken between the hiccups and cries that shook her whole body, leaving the ghoul awkwardly stooped over her prone form helplessly.

“Get the door Mac,” Hancock instructed with a wave to the entryway behind him, picking up Connie once more and settling himself on the couch with her in his lap. MacCready jogged to the door, slamming it closed without a care for the settlers trying to peak inside curiously.

“Why is she crying?” He asked, returning to the two sitting on the couch, leaning over the back of the furniture to examine Connie for any damage- which was difficult considering she was huddled in a ball like she could completely disappear by hiding against Hancock's chest.

“I dunno,” The ghoul huffed, bringing a weathered hand up to card through Connie's short hair, giving MacCready a grimace and a shrug, “One minute she's telling me what 'chapstick' is and the next she gets this far off look and bursts into tears,” He finished, casting his gaze back down to the woman in his arms, her body slowly going limp against his chest as she wore herself out from the crying.

The two men waited for their friend to calm, the quiet broken only by Connie's deep, uneven breathing and MacCready's boots against the floor as he rounded the couch to sit on the floor, one arm reaching up to rub the woman's arm comfortingly, his elbow propped up on Hancock's knee.

“I'm sorry,” Connie finally whispered, voice hoarse and thick from the tears, barely heard with her face resting in the crook of Hancock's neck, muffling her words. One of her slender hands uncurled from Hancock's coat to shakily reach for the comforting touch on her arm, griping MacCready's fingers tightly.

“Shhh it's okay, Con. Why don't ya tell us what happened?” Hancock asked softly, fingers still threading though her fiery locks. Connie took another shaky breath in an attempt to steady herself, feeling MacCready give her hand a slight squeeze of encouragement.

“I guess I just started thinkin' about the past, yanno?” She replied, voice trembling and threatening to break, “About what life was like before all this shit happened. I had a whole house, a green yard, a-” Another stray sob snatched the breath from her throat and she paused for a moment before continuing, her voice even more fragile sounding than before, “I had a husband and a son, a job I really liked, I didn't have to fight for survival every day,” She trailed off, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

Her two companions looked at each other knowingly, finally understanding what had caused this behavior, both had traveled with Connie enough to know that despite her overall confidence and determination, she was still new to this life. She wasn't given any time to adjust to the new world she'd been thrust into, and occasionally that caught up with her. Trekking around the Commonwealth was like walking through a giant minefield, no one knew when they'd stumble across something that would trigger one of Connie's memories and send her into a panic attack.

“I should be used to this by now,” She said, tone pained and frustrated, “I need to move on so I can find Shaun, there's nothing I can do to change what happened,” The last part of her sentence came out as a breathless whine, expression crumbling and shoulders jumping with renewed sobs.

“Grief doesn't have a timer, Boss. You know that,” MacCready supplied with a certainty born from experience, tugging gently on the hand he still held, “No one expects you to just move on after all you've been through,” Hancock grunted in agreement, shifting to try and get Connie to sit up.

Uncurling herself and pulling away from Hancock's tear-stained chest, Connie slid off the ghoul's lap and onto the space beside him, pulling MacCready with her by the hand. He got up with a theatrical sigh, rolling his eyes in a dramatic manner before shooting Connie a smirk and plopping down into what little space remained on the couch beside her, sandwiching her between himself and Hancock.

“Yeah Red, and yanno,” Hancock started warmly, “You've done a lotta good 'round here. Helped a lotta people and made a ton of friends,” He said, twisting his torso to look at her puffy, bloodshot eyes directly, “I'm sorry yer hurtin' Sunshine, but we're always here for ya,” A withered hand pulled a handkerchief from one of his coat's inside pockets and gently wiped away the tears making trails down her dirty cheeks.

Connie let out a shaky laugh, a watery smile making its way onto her face as she leaned into Hancock's hand on her face and gripped MacCready's gloved hand in hers.

“Thanks guys,” She rasped, finally letting letting herself relax against the cushions, reassured by the warmth of her friends on either side of her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno where else to go with this chapter so I'm gonna end it there (ALSO LOOK MACARONI MADE IT INTO THIS ONE)! I started writing this bc I've been hella sick the past few days and my nose is all clogged up, making my mouth and lips dry bc I can't breathe through my nose. I really need some chapstick is what I'm getting at here.


End file.
